Guilt Trip
by Straightjacket Serenade
Summary: Post-s11, Tucker goes out on patrol and finds someone that has a deal for him.


Tucker stiffened when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck, just between where helmet meets chest piece. He knew better than to yell, even though the rest of the patrol was only a bit farther ahead. He was expecting several things- shouts that they'd taken another rebel hostage, the click of the gun being cocked, or the explosion of the man behind the trigger shooting without a second thought.

"Lavernius Tucker."

He was not expecting Locus's voice.

"Drop your weapons and walk forward." Tucker did as Locus asked, knowing that trying to fight in this situation would only get himself killed. He watched as Locus stepped over his weapons, pushing him away from them with the gun. There was a pause before Locus spoke again. "I want to make you a deal."

Tucker also hadn't been expecting _that_, but that didn't mean he was going to listen. "No," he said bluntly, hoping that Locus wouldn't shoot him just for refusing to cooperate.

"I think you'll want to listen to this. This is the only deal I'll-"

"_No_," he said again, not wanting to listen to Locus pretend to want to help him. It didn't matter what the offer was, Tucker wasn't going to help the Feds with anything.

"Why have you willingly joined the losing side of this war?" This time, Tucker was silent. Locus took that as affirmation to continue talking. "It's obvious the Rebels can't win this. You're much too good to be helping them. Back in the canyon, you fought like a true soldier. The Rebels aren't soldiers; they're not fit to fight a battle, let alone win a war. You're better than all of them."

"I'm not going to help you." Tucker winced slightly when his voice shook. "The Rebels _were_ weak. We're training them. And then we're coming for you. They can win this. _We_ can win this."

Tucker was lying through his teeth, and he knew it.

"You know, I saw what Agent Washington did for you. Noble," Locus said dismissively, as if he were commenting on the weather instead of the sacrifice of a war prisoner. "If you were to join the Federal Army, he'd be released."

_No, he wouldn't. Locus is lying. He's full of shit, Wash wouldn't go anywhere, don't listen to him_. "…He would?"

"Yes. You do realize that that would be the only real way to repay him for what he did, don't you? He thought he was going to _die_ when he let you get away. Are you honestly going to tell me you wouldn't do the same for him?" There was a long pause, but Tucker didn't trust himself to answer. "Selfish, don't you think?" Locus murmured.

"What do I have to do?" The words were out of Tucker's mouth before he realized he was speaking.

"All we ask is you return here alone at noon, two days from now. You'll come with us to fight against the Rebel army."

"And you'll release Wash?"

"Of course," Locus said. Tucker sighed, and he realized the pressure of the gun barrel was gone from his neck. "And you don't have to answer yet."

"I don't?"

"In two days I'll be coming back here. I expect to see you here waiting for me. If you aren't, my men have orders to kill Agent Washington."

Tucker's stomach dropped, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He wasn't sure how long he was standing there after he heard that, but by the time he thought to turn around, Locus had left. He hurried to pick up the weapons he'd dropped, then caught up with the patrol, who immediately began questioning him on how long he'd been gone

"Sir, where were you? You said you had to go take a piss, we were starting to think you'd been killed or something."

"I thought I heard something. I went to check it out, no big deal."

"By yourself? What if it had been-"

"Well it _wasn't_. It was just some animal, so let's keep going."

* * *

The next day, Tucker made his platoon work harder than ever. The solders knew there was something wrong with him, but he'd become so agitated that no one wanted to be the one to confront him about it. The things Locus had said never left his mind, and the guilt was eating him alive. Every time he saw Caboose, Simmons, or Grif, his stomach twisted. He couldn't betray them. He knew he couldn't betray Wash, either, though.

By the time the second day came around, Tucker thought he was going to be sick. He was shaking, and he'd become jumpy. The soldiers stayed away from him as much as they could, thinking it was just another one of the moods he would get in, like when he first showed up at the camp. He didn't care; he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk directly to any of them anyways. He was blatantly ignoring and avoiding Simmons, Grif and Caboose. Even looking at them made him feel guilty.

Eventually, it reached midday. Tucker put on his armor, grabbed a gun, and avoided anyone that would ask where he was going when he left the Rebel Camp. He made his way back to the area that he'd been in before, then waited.

After almost 30 minutes, he grew impatient. He was beginning to think that it had all been a trick when he heard someone walking towards him.

"So you made the right choice after all. Come with me, Tucker. We have a lot to discuss."


End file.
